Dear
Diary,
I’ve
been reading that book that Elliott gave me. The one that I know is changing
me, fundamentally, in a way I hadn’t really expected. Nothing seems different
when I look in the mirror, though. I guess not really. I’m not as pale. I don’t
look as hollow. But the eyes…
I
made the sacrifice it asked. Maybe that’s when I noticed the slightest of
changes. It could be all the crying. But the training has been going well, I
think. I asked Israel to help teach me about weapons. He even asked me to hit
him to prove to myself, mostly, that hitting something could make a difference.
I guess I might’ve hurt him, because he laughed after and held his jaw.
Caleb
has been going through hand to hand with me. I’ve spent most of the week with
him, learning to fight something unnaturally strong. We even talked about Jack,
since he knows. It’s only been a week but already I feel like more than the
girl who was crying behind her boyfriend. I feel like I could one day make a
difference if my friends needed me. I feel like I could fight back for once.
The
archery and martial arts lessons I’ve been taking downtown are exhausting.
Between the funeral, spending time with my “teachers” and my classes, the week
has moved faster than I thought it would. It’s only when time stands still that
the reality of my life comes crashing in.
Time
seems to pause and the world becomes a little surreal. When I go home to sleep,
I try to march past anything my mother has touched to just fall into bed. But
tomorrow school expects me to be there and I’ll have to be at home long enough
to eat food, to shower, to put clothes on that aren’t old and filled with
holes. I’ll need to smile. To say I’m fine. To avoid the eyes of everyone I’ve
come to know.
Maybe
no one will know. I’m new and not many people know me. No one will notice. No
one will ask. If only Vincent wouldn’t be there, if I could avoid his pleading
eyes. I guess we all have to face our demons at some point. Might as well be
tomorrow.
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